


"...you know that desk in your office?"

by amscray_punk



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Again, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, I'm Sorry, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, again with the tags, dfjkdsfjk, k that's all, straight up, ugghhhh, what even else needs to be said tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:21:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26686573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amscray_punk/pseuds/amscray_punk
Summary: “I’d also like to hear about those dreams…” He murmured as he moved back up his neck, causing Race’s heart to pound for an entirely different reason.“Some of them are more like daydreams, really…” Race said airily.“Tell me.” Spot’s lips were at his ear now and he bit his lip, barely suppressing a grin.“…you know that desk in your office?”*This is just the follow-up to this exchange from chapter 8 of The One We'll Create. Set a few weeks after the end, so there are mild spoilers but nothing earth-shattering if you haven't read it. Not tying it to the series because of that big ol' E rating. Oh, and if you haven't read that, Race used to be a prince in this AU.**Again, smut. That's all this is.
Relationships: Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 22
Kudos: 59





	"...you know that desk in your office?"

**Author's Note:**

> A 4k smut one shot based off of one line from my own fic? Yeah, sounds like me. The medieval sex scene ~~no one~~ Some People asked for.

In the weeks following the election, Spot found himself busier than he’d imagined was humanly possible.

As it turns out, stepping down from his position, selecting and training a replacement, and preparing to take on an entirely new and frankly terrifying role took a _lot_ of work. Training Mush was going—well, it was going. Spot had wondered briefly if he should have chosen Tommy instead, but the decision was made and truthfully, he was confident Mush would do just fine in his absence. Between training, meetings at the castle, and Racer—who took up a large chunk of his days just… being Racer, not that he minded—Spot hardly had time to fit in his remaining blacksmithing work. He still had a few orders to fulfill before he officially stepped down, and it was with a sigh of relief that he threw himself into his office chair. Huh. _His_ office chair; his office. Not for much longer. It was relatively quiet and cool in the office, and Spot was grateful to have some brief respite from the heat. He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, considering; he _should_ be working on the plans for the orphanage renovations, getting something down on paper. But before he could reach in the drawer for the leather-bound book that held his plans, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Spot called, hoping he only sounded weary to his own ears. He pushed off the desk and turned his back to the door, scanning the shelves. If he remembered correctly, Mister Seitz was scheduled to pick up an order and he brushed his fingertips over the shelf, searching. “A nice choice, Mister—”

“Mister? Well, I suppose that’s better than ‘Your Highness,’ although I rather thought we were closer than that, Spotty.”

Spot whipped around, his smile quick, surprised, instinctive. “Racer, what are you doin’ here?”

Race shrugged a shoulder casually as he sauntered in, closing the door softly. “Haven’t seen you since this morning,” He said, simply. “Missed you.”

Spot found he had to fight to keep his smile at a reasonable level as he nodded in understanding. He dropped back into the chair, pushed slightly away from the desk.

“It’s noon, Racer,” He didn’t mean for it to sound like a warning, but he’d quickly become intimately familiar with the wild spark he could see behind Racer’s—gorgeous, _stunning_ —blue eyes. “And I’m workin’.”

“You’re always workin’,” Race sighed, feigning nonchalance as he crossed the small room. His movements looked almost lazy, unplanned, but there was nothing coincidental about the way he slid between Spot’s chair and the desk. He leaned back, bracing himself against the surface and dropping his head so that the line of his throat was exposed, drawing Spot’s eyes almost involuntarily down the length of his lean form, stretched out in front of him. Spot clenched his jaw. Race knew what he was doing, leaning against his desk like that just weeks after he’d told Spot about his—well, he’d called it a daydream, but fantasy was closer to the truth. Not a day had gone by since that Spot’s gaze hadn’t lingered on that desk as he tried to work; distracted even when Race wasn’t present. But now… now, he was very present and _very_ distracting. And very pretty.

“I’m busy,” He said simply, arching an eyebrow when Race lifted his head to look down at him again. “Aren’t you?”

“Oh, sure,” Race agreed, nodding innocently even as he raked his eyes over him. Something like a warning bell started going off in Spot’s head, but the heat of Racer’s gaze on him made the sound distinctly easier to ignore. He could almost hear the mischief in Race’s voice when he spoke again. “But everyone needs to take a break,” Spot hummed in response. Race grinned and closed the distance between them, dropping uninvited into Spot’s lap and straddling him in the chair. His hands slid almost automatically up and over Spot’s chest, locking around his shoulders. He leaned in, pressing flush against him as he brushed his lips against his ear. “Relieve some of that… tension.”

_Shit._

Spot glanced instinctively toward the door; unsurprised when he realized Race had already bolted it. A quiet part of him knew he should shove Racer off his lap, throw the door wide open and get back to work. But then Race ground his hips down and Spot’s head fell back, just for a moment, but it was all the invitation Racer needed to lean in and nose up the side of his neck. He pressed his lips gently here, harder there, and that quiet part was getting quieter by the minute. Spot’s hands fell to Race’s hips and he gripped them maybe a little too tightly; the whimper Race made against his neck shot straight through him.

“Racer,” He groaned quietly, half in exasperation.

“Spotty,” Race countered, kissing just under his jaw. “Work can wait.”

“So can you.”

“Wrong.” Race murmured, working his lips along Spot’s jaw, his chin, the corner of his mouth. He stopped there, eyes cast downward so those long, long lashes rested on delicate cheekbones; their lips brushed as they breathed each other in, and Spot was distantly aware that the warning bell _should_ have gone off again. But it didn’t. It would take only a tiny movement to capture those soft lips for himself and, hell, the door _was_ already locked.

One kiss couldn’t hurt.

“You’re too damn pretty for your own good, y’know that?” Spot breathed before he tipped his chin up to kiss him hungrily, digging his fingers into his sides. He felt, rather than heard, the breathy laugh that escaped Race before he was kissing him back, one hand sliding up into Spot’s hair at the back. The office fell away as Spot lost himself the way he always did where Racer was concerned; the way that was becoming so familiar and yet increasingly intoxicating. He should have known one kiss wouldn’t be enough. It was never enough.

Kissing Racer was always an experience. It was easy, so easy it was almost second nature; lost in the touch and taste of him, weaving his fingers through silky curls. It was fervent and consuming, demanding every bit of his attention and he gave it freely—and Racer basked in it the way he always did, surging into him with abandon that bordered on reckless. Speaking of _reckless_ —

“Racer,” Spot said again as he broke the kiss, not sure who he was trying to convince. “It’s the middle of the day, for Christ’s sake. I’m expecting a pickup any minute, we gotta _stop_.”

“Don’t worry,” Race didn’t miss a beat as he moved to kiss down his neck. Spot squeezed his hips briefly, swallowing as he tried to stay focused. “Mush saw me come in. He’ll reschedule.” He said it so casually, so confidently; Spot gripped Race’s hair and pulled him away from his neck, lifting an accusatory eyebrow.

“You paid him, didn’t you?”

Race had the audacity to look offended, for just a second like he might deny it. Then his face split into a downright dazzling smile, unfazed and completely unashamed and Spot felt a sudden, dangerous swoop in his stomach. He squared his jaw, running his tongue over his teeth as he looked at Racer; lips parted, breath coming quickly, flush high and warm on his cheeks. With a half-frustrated growl, Spot pulled him back in and kissed him, deep and thorough. Purposeful. Race responded happily, wrapping his long arms around Spot’s neck as he pressed into him. Spot dropped his hands to Race’s waist again and held him tight while he rolled his hips up; Race moaned into his mouth and Spot almost gave in. He tried to focus on anything besides how ridiculously hot that was, and rational thought made a last-ditch attempt to intervene.

“Someone’s gonna hear us,” He warned, knowing it was a weak threat. The only people who should be close enough to the office door likely wouldn’t hear anything over the din of the forge. It was the last protest he could think of that might pull either of them back from the edge. But the gorgeous blonde draped across his lap had no such worry.

“I’ll be quiet,” Race insisted. Spot almost laughed.

“Right.”

“Well, I’ll try,” Race amended, leaning back so Spot had a close-up view of that mischievous smirk; the one that said he would do _very_ little trying. “Besides,” Race continued, trailing his fingertips lightly along Spot’s jaw, behind his ear. “That just makes it even better.”

“Fuck,” Spot hissed, making a mental note to revisit _that_ insinuation later and he guided Race’s mouth back to his. Consequences be damned; he just wanted _more_. Again Racer had the goddamned _audacity_ to giggle against his lips.

“That’s what I’m sayin’,”

Spot growled and slid his hands under Race’s thighs, gripping firmly and standing up, easily holding him. He dropped him on the desk, hardly caring about the loose notes and forms that had been left there. He noted Race’s surprised gasp with satisfaction as Race wrapped his legs instinctively around his waist. Spot leaned down to kiss up the side of Racer’s neck.

“You think I don’t see what you’re doin’?” He accused, tugging at Race’s hair to tilt his head to the side. “I remember what you told me.”

“Good,” Race said breathily, and Spot felt another tug low in his abdomen. “I want you to remember.”

“How could I forget? You have any idea what it’s been like tryin’ to get work done in here?” Spot mused, interrupting his line of soft kisses with a sharp nip just below Race’s ear. Racer whined softly and Spot smirked; positive he’d already abandoned his promise to be quiet.

“We’re runnin’ out of chances, love,” Spot could feel Race’s fingers twisting in the sides of his tunic, trying to pull him impossibly closer and he almost faltered at the pet name. That was new. “You’re leaving the forge soon…”

“Much as I’d like to bend you over this desk, Racer,” Spot murmured, pausing for effect—which worked beautifully, as Racer arched into him. “We’re not exactly prepared.”

“Check the drawer.”

“Check th—what?” Spot stuttered, admittedly caught off guard. He pulled back to look at Race; there went those eyes again.

“Behind your book.”

Spot blinked, taking a half step back to reach into the drawer. On first glance, he saw only the worn notebook—but no, there, just behind it, toward the back was a small jar filled with translucent oil. _Un-fucking-believable_. The almost desperate lust he’d managed to keep at bay hit him like a ton of bricks and he snapped. He snatched the jar, slammed the drawer shut, set the jar carefully on the desk and turned back to Racer all in one quick motion. He gripped Racer’s hips and yanked him to the edge of the desk, swallowing his delighted gasp when he kissed him, hard.

“You—” He pulled back just far enough to speak, punctuating his rough kisses with half-growled accusations. “—are so—” Kiss. “— _fucking_ spoiled—” Racer was being quiet now, Spot had to admit, but that seemed to stem more from an inability to form words rather than a lack of will. He pulled back a little farther to get a look at him, stomach flipping when he did. Racer was already dazed, lips slightly swollen, parted just enough for those little breathy gasps that were currently wrecking Spot’s concentration. He twisted a hand into Race’s hair, gripping none-too-gently. “You think you can just come in here and bribe my guys, plant shit in my desk and get whatever you want, don’t you?”

Race smirked, nodding. Cocky. Spot could just barely see a ring of almost navy blue around wide, dark pupils. The _audacity_.

“That’s how it’s been for you, hasn’t it?” Spot went on, slipping his hand from Race’s hair to grab at the hem of his tunic, which he promptly removed and tossed aside. Race reached for his shirt but Spot swatted at his hands. Spot pushed on Racer’s chest until he had to support himself with his hands as Spot leaned over him. He nipped at his collar bone, drawing a shiver and a decidedly not-quiet moan that made him smirk. “Your whole life, spoiled little rich boy, no one ever tells you no—”

“That’s right,” Race challenged, awfully mouthy for someone in such a vulnerable position. Spot pushed him down so that he was flat on his back on the large desk, long legs still wrapped tightly around his waist. Spot loomed over him, catching both of his wrists when Race reached again for his shirt and pinning them to the hard surface.

“You always get what you want, huh?” He growled into Race’s ear, clenching his jaw when he arched into him; anything to get closer.

“Yes,” Race whispered; Spot could almost hear the shameless smirk and he lifted his head to see it. He ducked in to kiss him again, wasting no time in coaxing Race’s mouth open with his tongue and swallowing every wanton sound. He trailed his hands down Race’s sides as they kissed, hooking his fingers into the waist of his pants.

“What _exactly_ do you want, Racer?” He asked innocently, gently tugging his pants down past his hips, going far too slowly for either of their liking. For the first time, Racer seemed lost for words. He’d propped himself up on his elbows when he found his wrists freed, watching Spot’s movements with dazed, hungry eyes. Spot stopped, looking up through his lashes at Race. Without breaking eye contact he leaned in to drag his lips over Race’s stomach, pinning his hips down when he squirmed. He spoke against his skin. “Tell me.”

“Spot—” Race cut off when Spot pulled his pants the rest of the way off, dropping them carelessly on the floor. He spared a moment to drink in the sight; Racer, naked and panting across his desk while he remained fully clothed. _More._ “Fuck—”

“Say it.” Spot ran his hands up Race’s thighs as he spoke, gripping his hips tightly again.

“T-touch me,” Race whispered shakily, whimpering when Spot trailed his fingertips over his hips and down to wrap around the base of his cock. Race bit his lip, watching.

“Like this?” Spot asked innocently, giving a gentle squeeze. Race’s eyes fluttered and he clenched his jaw, nodding. “I can’t hear you, gorgeous.”

“Yes, please Spot, anything, fuck,” Spot squeezed again and moved his hand slowly up, slowly down, smirking when Race dropped his head back. He brushed his other hand up Race’s stomach and chest, bringing it to rest lightly at the base of his throat; he felt Race swallow against his palm, breathing ragged.

“And… like this?” He murmured. Race squirmed, accidentally—or perhaps not—pressing against the bulge in Spot’s pants. Spot cursed and accidentally—no, _definitely_ not—squeezed Racer’s throat a little harder. He reveled in the shameless moan he let out, fairly forgetting his concern about being overheard. Keeping his hand firmly on Racer’s neck, Spot released him in the other, ignoring Race’s sounds of protest—which morphed quickly into a surprised, desperate gasp when he dropped his hand to reach the one place he knew Racer wanted him.

“ _Spot_ —”

“Or maybe this is what you really want, is that it?”

“Nghh, fuck—”

“I don’t have all day, Racer,” Spot chuckled, brushing one fingertip over his entrance; bit at his lip to hold in a groan when Race arched against him, eyes rolled back in his head. He dropped his voice down to a growl as he leaned over Race again. “I’m a busy man, you know. So if you’re gonna ambush me in my office and _demand_ my attention, you better be clear about what it is you want from me.” Spot hovered over him, so close he could feel Race’s breath on his lips. “Say it, pretty boy.”

“Fine,” Race huffed, twisting a hand into Spot’s tunic and dragging him down for a wild kiss; Spot could feel him trembling. Race broke away, gasping, and locked his eyes onto Spot’s without letting go of his shirt. “I want you to fuck me on this desk until I can’t _breathe_ , ‘til neither one of us can step foot in this room again without remembering what it felt like—” Spot cut him off with his mouth again, sliding his hand from his throat up and into his hair, kissing him until he felt like he might actually die if he didn’t get his own clothes off _right now_. He pulled back, nose to nose with Racer, and grinned.

“If you insist.”

Spot stood, keeping one hand on Race’s chest to hold him down as shoved his pants down to his knees. Twisted the lid off the jar, dipped his fingers in before leaning over Racer again and pressing one fingertip against his entrance. Race held his lip in his teeth, desperate, and Spot waited just one more moment, drinking in the sight.

“Wonder how shocked the people would be to find out that _this_ is what the golden boy thinks about at night,” He mused, satisfied smirk turning dark and dangerous when Racer flushed. Spot pressed one finger slowly, so slowly inside, watching Race’s face change as he adjusted to the pressure. His eyes fluttered but he fought to keep them open, keep them fixed on Spot. “Up in your tower,” Spot murmured, running his free hand over Racer’s chest and stomach. “While the rest of the kingdom sleeps, you’re up there dreamin’ about gettin’ fucked by the blacksmith, huh?”

“God, yes,” Race moaned, grabbing at Spot’s tunic again in an attempt to pull him closer. Spot continued his slow, focused movements, unfazed by Racer’s impatience.

“How many times have you thought about this, Racer?” He asked softly, waiting until Race started to answer before he curled his finger inside of him.

“So—oh, _fuck_ —so many times,” He choked out.

“And when you think about it,” Spot went on, pulling all the way out and lining up two fingers, this time. “What do you do?”

“I—” Race cut off in a strangled moan when Spot pushed back in and stopped, staying completely still. “Fuck, Spot—”

“Do you touch yourself, Racer?”

“Oh God,” Race whimpered, eyes closed as he nodded frantically. “Yes, yes, God, fuck—” Spot hummed approvingly, resuming the slow rhythm of his fingers. He just watched him for a moment, falling to pieces on his desk, laid out for the taking. _More._

“Like this?” Spot asked, moving his free hand to wrap around Racer’s cock again, stroking him in time with his other hand. Race’s hips bucked as he cried out, and Spot couldn’t bring himself to care one bit if anyone overheard; they should count themselves lucky, because Racer on the edge of desperation was one of the most intoxicating sounds he had ever heard. He swallowed hard, pulling his fingers out to ready a third. This wasn’t going to take long.

“Y-yes, Spot, like this, God I’ve thought about this so much,” Race babbled. “Please, Spot—” He gave a deep, shuddering gasp when Spot pressed back in with three fingers. Spot gritted his teeth; he was bordering on impatient himself, now.

“So improper, Your Highness,” Spot chuckled, knowing Racer was too far gone to correct him—only admitting to himself the little thrill he got from saying it while he touched him like this. He hooked his fingers at the same moment that he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the hollow of Race’s throat; smiled against his skin when Race choked on air. “I wonder—which is better? The fantasy, or—”

“You, it’s you, you’re better, God so much better, Spot this is all I’ve ever wanted, _please_ —” Racer’s voice cracked on the last word and Spot decided, all at once, that enough was enough. He straightened, carefully removed his fingers, drawing one more delicious gasp from Racer, and pulled him by his hips to the edge of the desk. After quickly coating himself with oil, Spot leaned over him to kiss him one more time—slow, filthy, full of promise—before he stood again and lined himself up. He kept his hands on Race’s hips, holding him still until Race looked at him.

“Ask for it, pretty boy.” It had only been a month or so, but Spot was quickly learning that Racer didn’t mind being told what to do. Race didn’t hesitate.

“Fuck me, Sean,”

It was the confident, unexpected use of his name that made his breath rush out, his knees buckle just the slightest bit before he gripped Race’s hips and pushed inside. The feeling was indescribable; they’d done this before, of course, but never anywhere as scandalous as this, in his office in the middle of the damn day. Spot had been wanting this for weeks, since Racer whispered it against his skin—and knowing how long Race had wanted it made it even better. Race’s mouth opened in a silent gasp as Spot buried himself to the hilt and stopped, dropping his forehead against Race’s chest. “Fuck,” He breathed, squeezing his eyes shut as they both adjusted.

After a moment, Racer gave an impatient whine and Spot kissed his collar bone softly and pulled out, just as slowly as he’d entered. Race’s hands had found their way under his tunic and up his back, gripping his shoulder blades like his life depended on it. Spot pushed back in slowly, partly because he wanted to draw this out as long as possible, and partly because he was almost overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through him. Racer, however, had other plans. He dug his nails into Spot’s back at the precise moment that he ground his hips down, pushing against him and Spot faltered as his hips stuttered, a surprised groan tearing its way out. _More._

“Fuck, Racer—” He growled, straightening up a little and placing a hand on Racer’s chest, pinning him to the desk. “You can’t—”

“Why not?” Race asked, and Spot was vaguely annoyed at the challenge in his breathy tone. “I want more.” The way he half-groaned, half-gasped the words, the way those dazed blue eyes rolled back in his head, the way _more_ echoed through Spot’s mind for the hundredth time—well, who was he to deny him? He’d said it himself; he always got what he wanted.

“You asked for it,” Spot reminded him, leaning over to kiss him one last time before he picked up the pace. Not frantic, but focused and deliberate and Racer fell absolutely to pieces on the desk; a stunning, writhing, panting mess. One hand in his own hair, the other reaching desperately, blindly for any part of Spot he could touch. _Beautiful._ Spot angled his hips up on his next thrust and Racer dug his nails into his shoulder, gasping.

“Spot, fuck, I’m—I’m—”

“I know, I—” Spot choked out, beyond putting up a front, beyond pretending like Race wasn’t the most gorgeous thing he’d ever laid eyes on, let alone been allowed to touch, to take, like this. “You’re so _fucking_ pretty, Racer, God,” Race whimpered, biting on his lip and fuck, wasn’t that just a sight? “You’re gonna come like this, aren’t you? God, look at you, laid out like this—you’re fuckin’ gorgeous, I bet I don’t even need to touch you—”

“Oh, God, Spot—” Race cut off suddenly as his back arched—goddamn _gorgeous_ —and he came between them, a string of filthy curses falling from those pretty lips as he trembled. The sight alone would have been enough for Spot, and his hips stuttered as his orgasm crashed over him all at once. He rocked a little with the force of it, overwhelming pleasure coursing through him in waves; the edges of his vision darkened slightly and he was grateful for the sturdy desk as he fell forward onto his elbows, hovering over Racer.

For a few moments, the only sounds were the distant clanging from the forge and their combined, labored breathing. When he felt like he could stand up, Spot pressed a gentle kiss to Race’s forehead and he carefully pulled out, smirking at the quiet—the quietest sound he’d made, really—gasp it drew from Racer. He opened the bottom drawer of the desk and grabbed two clean rags, tossing one to Racer, who’d managed to sit up. Spot watched him, wondering how in the hell someone could be so stunning even in his wrecked, flustered state—and how, mere minutes after possibly the best orgasm of his life, all he could think about was when they’d be able to do it again _._ Race caught him looking and the corner of his mouth lifted in a devastating smirk. _Gorgeous._

“What?”

Spot narrowed his eyes, considering. _Just wondering what I did so right in my life to end up with you_ wasn’t quite what he wanted to say, and neither was _I don’t ever wanna let you go_. So he settled on a little shake of his head, offering Racer a smirk of his own.

“Nothin’,” He answered simply, retrieving Race’s pants from the floor and handing them to him. “You’re just… unbelievable, that’s all.”

“Oh, that’s all?” Race giggled, standing up to slip back into his clothes, scanning the room for his discarded shirt. Spot caught him by the wrist and pulled him in for a kiss, this one gentle, lingering; he could feel Racer smiling against his lips. Spot pulled back, partly because he was starting to get caught up in Racer again and he didn’t trust himself at all, anymore. He lifted a hand to smooth down Race’s tangled curls.

“So, did you get it out of your system?” He asked, one eyebrow arched in question. Incredibly, Racer laughed, his smile blinding and entirely shameless.

“Oh, Spotty, there’s plenty more where that came from.”


End file.
